chance

"I want to do this. I swear, I really do."

She is like a wounded animal, unmoving and vulnerable. Streaks of salt on her cheeks, remnants of tears. Her fists are shaking, earthquakes darting through her fingers.

She's been waiting for five years. Ever since that woman on the street, old and faded, had told her about this place, she had searched. Given everything. Coins, lies, dignity. She had torn away little parts of herself, slowly, until the only thing that existed was her desire to get here.

Throughout her journey, a ripped photo had reassembled, a truth. What she was doing was dangerous, it had a high chance of killing her. Still, she had kept her grip on her fleeting optimism. If she succeeded, it would be worth it.

She would save so many people. She would save herself.

The mage nodded, held out his hand.

It burned like fire. Death was so close, she could feel his fingers, bones and ice.

Yet she holds on, plummeting into the unknown.